Sanguine
by Hermy Puckle
Summary: Twilight retold. Forks isn't what it seems.


**_Summary:_** _ **This is the story Twilight was meant to be.** _

_Author's Note: Every story starts with a what-if question. It's taught in any creative writing class, after all, and for good reason. You can see it in every story, OC or fanfiction alike. Sometimes you can even figure out what that particular what-if was, reverse-engineering the story back to the author's initial curiosity. You can see this in Twilight, even. Thing is, most stories fulfill those what-if questions, letting them describe the story no matter how abstract the telling might be. Twilight does not._

 _Many people might be surprised to find me writing fanfiction of something which I've been demonstrably not a fan._

 _This isn't hatefic, either._

 _No, my opinions haven't changed but they HAVE matured somewhat. In that I've realized my dislike went beyond the purple prose and glorification of unhealthy relationships. My vitriol stemmed from the potential SMeyer carelessly discarded in favor of a contrived Mormon Aesop that went against what little personality the characters had. I think SMeyer had some good ideas, some good what-ifs. You can see them peppered throughout the series (mostly the first couple books). I was (and still am) angry with her for not fulfilling the potential story she started. I think in almost any other author's hands, those ideas would've been realized, and the story would've been better. SMeyer just drank her own kool-aid and told the story SHE wanted to tell, instead of the story the CHARACTERS wanted to tell._

 _Before any accusations fly: it isn't arrogance for me to say I could've written the story better. If you (whoever you are) look at a story and think 'I could've done better' that isn't wrong of you to say. 'Better' is subjective, sure. But that doesn't mean you can't take something in a wonderfully new direction. That is, after all, what fanfiction is all about, right? Besides, with Twilight? (Almost) ANYONE could've written it better. SMeyer had great ideas, just awful execution._

 _I've rounded out the characters, especially the MCs. The good thing about the way SMeyer wrote the characters so bare-bones, is none of them are really OOC. I've given them all more depth, more history. Bella's got real reasons for moving to a place she so despises, for her relationship with her parents. The flanderization is toned down, and she's less 'show' and more 'tell'. She's deeply flawed, as are all the characters. There's no black-and-white, right-and-wrong._

 _While this fic hits a lot of the same beats as the original, but is darker and has a whole new rhythm. I've taken some ideas SMeyer briefly teased and I've run with them. Forks is less idyllic and more atmospheric. Stephen King, Lovecraft, D &D, and some true crime all inspire me here. I hope you enjoy. _

_Constructive Feedback is encouraged._

* * *

 **Sanguine**

 **1**

 **Prologue**

The rhythmic _splash, splash, splash_ was just starting to smooth out my thoughts when my phone rang. I tried to block it out, as I'd blocked out everything else around me. I'd set it on 'do not disturb' but because it was a cheapo smart phone I'd bought used, this function didn't work completely and still let a ring through.

Possibly from the call jarring me out of my trance, I heard the whooping a lot sooner than I would have normally. My battered running shoes were tricked out with hi-vis tape I'd bought at a dollar store, and I was wearing what Mom called my 'highlighter jacket', making me about as visible as I could be, considering. I lept up onto the curb nevertheless and hoped I didn't twist my ankle on the slick grass.

The hollaring got louder, almost drowning out the rumbling engine and heavy bass music. The truck roared past me, definitely exceeding the posted 25 mph speed limit, and hitting a particularly deep pothole dead on. Cold, muddy water smacked me like a solid object, momentarily stealing my breath.

I stopped and bent over, hands on my thighs and tried to suck in air. The air in Arizona wasn't like this, and I guess my lungs had grown used to dry air. Now I felt like I was trying to breathe through a wet towel. My head tingled but I focused on breathing, like my old doctor had told me. _You only think you're suffocating but you're not. You're still breathing; it's all in your head._ I inhaled as much as I could and clamped my throat closed. _1... 2... 3..._ I held until I felt like my lungs would explode out of my chest. Already the trick to 'reset' my breathing was starting to help.

After another round, I stood up and tried to wipe my face dry. I almost started to laugh at myself – it was still pouring; what was I doing? – when I noticed I wasn't alone.

The street was bathed in red light from the dark truck that had splashed me. It was just idling there, not even in park if the red break lights were any indicator. I watched it, expecting someone to get out and go into one of the houses, but no one did. It waited, maybe for someone to come out of one of said houses?

All the houses on the street remained dark save for the porchlights.

Goosebumps prickled the back of my neck as a nasty suspicion floated into my mind. _They are waiting for me._ I could feel myself being watched.

Then I immediately felt stupid. Forks was a small town with nothing to do after 9pm except, apparently, joyriding. I was a random girl running during a torential downpour. In major cities people would just drive on while thinking, _well that's odd. I wonder what's up with her?_ Folks here seemed oddly forward and absolutely the types to actually stop and _ask_ 'what's up with you?' Maybe they were even going to apologize for splashing me. Weren't people in places like this supposed to be friendly?

My phone let out a shrill ring, somehow sounding louder than it had just a moment ago. I yanked it out of my pocket and hit 'answer' without even checking who it was. The faulty 'do not disturb' function had the upside of giving me a small window to choose to answer. I had the sudden desire to talk to someone, to calm my paranoia. I didn't even care if it was bill collectors again.

' _Where the hell are you?'_

Not a collection agency then.

'Do you know what time it is?'

'You know your phone shows the time, right Charlie?' I tried to joke, trying to sound casual and light, not like the call had just given me a mini panic attack. 'You don't have to call me to–'

' _Don't be cute,'_ he snapped. 'I don't know what possessed you to do such a stupid thing–'

'I'm not stupid!' I wasn't laughing anymore. Being called 'stupid' was sort of my kryptonite.

He scoffed. 'Oh? You sure as hell could've fooled me. Leaving the house without telling anyone, to go God-knows-where in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar town _during a flash flood?_ I wouldn't exactly call that genius decision making, Bella.'

 _He doesn't know, couldn't know. He's not trying to be hurtful; he's just worried._ Still, I could feel my throat wobble threateningly. I wasn't going to cry. 'I'm sorry. I just couldn't sleep and running helps. Plus Forks is a pretty safe, sleepy town. Nothing happens here.'

I heard him take a deep, steadying breath. 'You just rephrased the beginning of every true crime book. _It was a small town where nothing ever happens.'_

The darkness in his voice caught me up. There was an underlying other emotion... concern?

The taillights on the truck flickered. It started to reverse.

'Okay.' I cut in before he could go on. The truck's music had turned off. I wasn't looking at the truck and thinking _Gilmore Girls_ anymore; I was thinking _The Hills Have Eyes._ 'You're right. I'm coming back now. I'll see you in a few minutes.'

I sprinted the whole way to Charlie's house.

* * *

 _A/N: I thought about doing a prologue similar in vein to the one in the original Twilight book, but felt that might give too much away._


End file.
